


Unknown

by DinerGuy



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Callen and Sam have gone missing and no one knows why. But finding their missing teammates may only be half of the team's problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frankie_mcstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_mcstein/gifts).



> Written for my dear friend's birthday quite some time ago, but only just now finished and polished enough for any sort of posting. Her only instructions were, "Take one G Callen, whump thoroughly, add two parts Sam and one part Hetty and mix well." So here we go!
> 
> Also, thanks to said friend (frankie_mcstein) for betareading and allowing me to bounce ideas off of her.
> 
> Obligatory disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, and nope, not mine again. Plotline, yes. Rest of it, no. I didn't even create any original characters besides evil bad guy ones, so… yay. Read on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for my dear friend's birthday quite some time ago, but only just now finished and polished enough for any sort of posting. Her only instructions were, "Take one G Callen, whump thoroughly, add two parts Sam and one part Hetty and mix well." So here we go!
> 
> Obligatory disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, and nope, not mine again. Plotline, yes. Rest of it, no. I didn't even create any original characters besides evil bad guy ones, so… yay. Read on.

 

Reality came back to him in a painful surge, and he gritted his teeth against the pain that was flaring in his head. When things inside his skull finally calmed down somewhat, he blinked his eyes open slowly, trying not to overload his senses.

Thankfully, the room was dark and quiet, although it was a little too dark and quiet. He couldn't make out much of anything in the room, other than what was illuminated by the small crack of light coming from under a door in the far wall. He could feel a hard, cold floor beneath him, and he knew he was lying on concrete. That was the first and only clue he had found so far to indicate anything about where he was. Unfortunately, with nothing else to go on, it didn't help him much.

When his headache had finally calmed down to a dull ache, he attempted to sit up. When he did, his head began to swim and he cried out as the pain flared again. He sank back to the ground, wishing for nothing more than to fall back into oblivion so that everything else would go away. Added to that, he found himself swallowing rapidly several times to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. The last thing he needed was to lose his breakfast; he honestly did not think he was capable of turning over, although that would be his only option if he didn't want to choke to death.

Once his insides were safely where they should be, he closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he dared. He couldn't hold back the small whimper that forced its way through his lips.

Something shifted in the corner, and he glanced that way, a jolt of terror flashing through his gut. There was a large, dark shape on the other side of the room, and something about it struck fear into him. He scrambled backwards, again unable to hold back a sound of pain as his injuries were aggravated but unable to resist the almost animal-like instinct that was propelling him away from the shape.

The shadow stopped moving and put its hands up. "G! It's just me. It's me! Are you okay?"

He had reached the wall behind him and there was nowhere else to go. Something in the very back of his mind was telling him to calm down, that he could trust this voice, but he still wasn't completely sure. His head hurt too much for him to concentrate on anything, and his attempt to figure out how this man seemed to know him didn't go very far. Regardless of what part of his mind was telling him to trust it, the voice didn't sound familiar. Neither did the name G. Apparently this man thought he was someone else.

"I… I... don't know." It was getting harder and harder to think; his thoughts and memories seemed to be one big jumble that he couldn't untangle.

"Do you remember what happened? All I know is I blacked out when we got forced off the road."

He slowly put a hand to his forehead, trying to massage away some of the pounding. "I really... don't… You must… confused me… with someone else." All he wanted was just to be left alone in peace.

"Bro, it's me. Sam. We've worked together for years."

Was his name really G? Was this stranger telling the truth? "Where… where…" His mouth didn't seem to want to work right, and he stumbled over the words, even as the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his side intensified.

"NCIS. We're special agents. We're partners!"

The explanation came a little too loudly and he closed his eyes and groaned. "I… I don't remember."

The other man paused. "You don't remember any of this?"

"No." Besides hurting, lost and confused were also the perfect adjectives for how he was feeling at that moment. "I don't… I'm sorry."

The realization had hit him like an iron fist to his already-roiling abdomen.

He didn't know.

He didn't know who he was or what he did for a living.

He didn't know this other man, even though the man seemed to know him.

The details Sam had provided seemed too detailed to not be true, and he had no reason to doubt him. He'd been told his name was G.

G Callen.

It was strange to think of it as his name; not just some other person's name—which it could very well be for how much he remembered—but his name that he had had for his entire life.

He tried to think, tried to remember what he could of anything in the past. The concentration caused his head to flare again, and he winced as the nausea also flared up. This time, no amount of slow breathing or gulping could do anything for him, and he forced himself to at least turn his head to the side as he lost whatever it was he had last eaten.

He heard Sam rush over to him, could feel the other man's hand on his back, helping him turn over all the way, but G couldn't concentrate on anything other than the roiling in his stomach. The heaving upset his head and side even more, which led to yet more unsettling of his stomach in one unending circle of sickness.

Things finally settled down and he lay back, panting as he tried to regain full control of himself. When his surroundings finally stopped spinning, he took a deep breath, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he muttered again, a little embarrassed at the spectacle he had made of himself.

The other man was quick to reassure him. "No, don't worry about it." He sounded slightly pained but G knew he couldn't do anything about it. His brain was beginning to become overwhelmed by all of the information being taken in, and he could feel himself fading.

He mumbled something but wasn't even quite sure what he said. It was enough to worry the other man, though, because Sam's face suddenly came into view.

"G! G, stay with me!"

As much as he wanted to do as instructed, he just couldn't hold onto reality anymore, and Sam's voice soon faded into nothing.

* * *

The next thing his mind registered was not so much one particular sensation as it was a lack of any. The overwhelming pain that had been shooting through his head and side the last time he had been awake was gone, replaced by a lighter-than-air feeling that seemed to occupy most of his body.

There were some sounds around him, but they were all distant and muted. But he didn't really care. For the time being, it was enough to just enjoy the painless darkness and drift off again…

He wasn't sure how much time had passed the next time he came to. He still felt light-headed but this time he also registered something soft underneath him, and he could hear a persistent beeping all around him.

His eyelids felt too heavy, and he gave up trying to open them, at least for the time being. Instead, he took a deep breath—or rather, he tried to. There was something down his throat.

With that realization, his gag reflex kicked in, and he began to gasp and thrash as his body tried to remove the offending object. He involuntarily tried to suck in a breath through his mouth, prompting an attempt at coughing. That didn't work, and he began dry-heaving, which sent him into even more panic. Something wet rolled down his cheeks as he attempted to claw at whatever was obscuring his airway. His arms felt like lead, only slightly lighter than his eyelids, and they kept catching on something. Something was pulling at his hand as well, sending a sharp pain up his arm with every movement.

Urgent voices began shouting nearby, but he couldn't make out what was being said. Suddenly, there were weights against his shoulders and legs, pushing him down, forcing him still. He tried to protest but only succeeded in provoking another round of gagging.

A sharp prick in his arm stung for a moment, then he slowly calmed as all sounds and sensations faded away again…

* * *

"… G…"

"… pulled… IV again…"

"… will he… soon…"

"… n't know… have to wait to… out…"

His mind slowly began registering more sounds, although he felt as if he was floating. It took a few moments before his surroundings registered and he again felt something solid beneath him and heard sounds. That persistent breathing was back, as was a soft buzzing sort of sound.

His eyelids were much more cooperative, and he was able to slide one open with only minimum effort. The other soon followed and he blinked, slowly allowing the room to come into focus. It was dim and still, other than that beeping and buzzing that he had heard at first. He suddenly remembered his earlier experience and the machine beside him sped up its beeping as he didn't dare take a breath but raised a hand to his mouth.

This time, his arm wouldn't move, and he tried again. Only now he felt that there was something soft but firm around his wrist, keeping it down at his side. He tried his left arm and had the same result.

Panic, one of the only feelings he could remember other than pain, kicked in, and he yanked furiously in an attempt to free himself. Just as he realized his feet were similarly held at the bottom of the bed, there was a quick movement beside him, which made his heart rate jump even more.

"G!" The figure put a hand on his chest. "G, stop."

He recognized the voice from somewhere, although he couldn't place it. He was still panicking over his inability to move and his unfamiliar surroundings, but he did as the man was asking—not so much because he wanted to but because he found himself too weak to continue.

"Hey, just calm down, okay? You're safe," the man continued. "It's me, Sam. Remember?"

He didn't remember, but he also couldn't really argue at the moment as he lay still and caught his breath. It was then that he realized that whatever had been down his throat earlier was gone, and he coughed tentatively.

A cup appeared in front of him, Sam putting a straw to his lips, and he gulped down the cool, refreshing water. A moment later, the straw and cup disappeared, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry about the restraints, G, but you kept pulling everything out."

G… that was his name? Then in a flash, he remembered the man…

Sam…

From earlier, before he had woken up here. Sam had called him G there as well…

Reading the confusion in G's eyes, Sam's brow furrowed. "You still don't remember anything?"

"Not…" He cleared his throat again. "Not before the room. Can you take these off?" he asked, motioning with his hand.

"If you promise not to pull your IV out again," Sam told him sternly. There was a look of sadness in the man's eyes, but it was quickly masked.

There was a jingle of metal as Sam worked the buckles, and the tension around G's wrists vanished.

"I'm going to call the doctor to let him know you're awake," Sam continued. "Behave." He pointed a finger before walking to the door.

* * *

"How is the investigation going?" Sam asked Hetty as they waited for the doctor to finish with their friend. There were several things that needed to be done for which they both knew G would much rather not have them there, so they had moved to two chairs a few steps down the hall.

Hetty shook her head. "Not very well, I'm afraid. They're going through every lead possible, but nothing yet. The only security footage we had of the accident was too dark and grainy for Mr. Beale or Ms. Jones to get any facial matches."

"He still doesn't remember." Sam shifted the sling that held his right arm immobile, a feeling of helplessness in his gut as he said the words. This was G, his partner, his best friend. To not be recognized and to know that the other man must be feeling scared and utterly alone right now was bad enough, but then there was the realization that there was nothing that Sam could do to help him.

The look in Hetty's eyes told him she understood. Sam knew she was probably feeling the same things as he was, perhaps even more based on the almost-mother-and-son-like relationship that existed between Hetty and G.

"Mr. Callen is strong; he'll get through this," Hetty stated firmly. "We just have to help him remember."

* * *

Sam took yet another run at the door, doing nothing but rattling the wall a little and jarring his shoulder even more. He could barely feel his arm at this point; it was just a solid throbbing pain above his elbow.

The pain blended with the cut on his forehead that, though it had long since stopped bleeding, was still making its presence known quite loudly—right along with the various bruises on his abdomen and arms. His rushing against the door was probably not doing him any good, but he had to do something with himself.

In frustration, he slammed a fist against the solid wood. It had barely even splintered from his efforts, much less did it give any indication that it was going to give way anytime soon. He stepped back to catch his breath and glared at the door, as if looks alone could do what he had been trying to use force to accomplish off and on for the past few hours.

He had been all over the small room several times and not once had he found a way out. He'd looked quite desperately too, but the lack of light made it hard to see. He could only make out vague outlines and had to rely on his sense of touch more than anything else to search for an escape. Unfortunately, it appeared the only exit was the one that was securely shut and locked.

He sank back against the nearest wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, resting a few minutes to even his breathing before trying again. It might be futile, but it was his only option at this point. He couldn't just sit around and do nothing, especially since sitting still would only give him time to worry.

It wasn't that he was trying to worry, necessarily. In fact, he was trying very hard to think of things on the brighter side, but his years as an NCIS agent, not to mention his years in the service, had exposed him to the darker side of humanity. And try as he might not to dwell on them, he couldn't help but think of all the reasons why he might be where he was. They rushed unbidden into his thoughts, and the best way he had found to banish them to at least a small corner of his mind was to keep busy. And the only way to do that in his current situation was to work on getting out, no matter how futile it seemed.

The worst part about the thoughts wasn't of what could happen to him, although those were bad enough. No, he was most concerned over his partner. When he had come to in the dark room, he had found himself lying beside an unconscious G. It had been a bit of a challenge trying to see in the dark, and without anything to aid his sight, he had to rely on his sense of touch and the very vague bit of light that was making its way through the crack under the door on the other side of the room.

From what he had been able make out, the only indication of injury on the other man was the sticky substance on his head. That correlated with the fact that G was still out cold, and it had Sam quite concerned. Head wounds were always a cause for concern, and when a head wound was coupled with the man being unconscious for who-knew-how-long, things got worse.

And then the fact that he couldn't really see and so couldn't tell what other damage had occurred made things even worse.

His memory was a little fuzzy, but he remembered enough to know that his partner had been with him when their car had been forced off the road. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the dark room was blacking out after his head smacked into the car window. Apparently, the same thing or worse had happened to his partner, and now they were locked in an unknown place by unknown people with unknown intentions.

The only thing that wasn't unknown was the time and date. For some reason, he still had his watch, and the illuminated face informed him of just how much time was passing as he sat in the darkness. It had been over twenty-four hours since they had left the boatshed. Hopefully that length of time also meant that the others would be looking for them now. The rest of their team knew where they had been headed, so it wouldn't have taken long for them to find the car abandoned on the side of the road, as long as no one had moved it to avoid just such a clue being left in the open.

There were a host of reasons for them to have been taken; it could have been related to the case they were currently working, or it could have had to do with some other case in the past. There were really too many reasons to easily narrow down the right one. NCIS agents generally incurred the wrath of many people in the course of their job. It could be any one of the hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of people they had angered as they solved crimes and arrested criminals.

Suddenly, he realized that there was no sound coming from the other man. Not even the muffled sound of breathing. He reached over and felt until he reached G's wrist.

There was no pulse.

He frantically felt up towards G's neck and tried again. Still nothing.

There was no breath coming from G's nostrils or mouth either, and terror began to gnaw at Sam's stomach. He refused to believe it, but it was right there in black and white.

His friend was gone.

The stress and horror took over and Sam fell back. His already-limited vision blurred, and before he knew it, he had faded into unconsciousness…

But then Sam jerked awake, his pulse pounding in his ears. It took a few minutes to calm his breathing, and once he had, he carefully sat up. He had to be slow and purposeful because of the concussion that still had his head pounding. Any quick change of altitude, however slight, made his stomach roil and his vision fade.

After making sure he hadn't woken Michelle, he stood and made his way to the bathroom. He knew it would be a waste of time to try to get back to sleep, and he didn't particularly want to. If he did, chances were high that he would have a similar nightmare, and he had no desire to experience anything like it again—ever.

Instead, he got ready for the day as quickly as possible before heading out to the garage. He couldn't go back to the hospital—Hetty had kicked him out the night before so that he could go home and rest—so his next option was the office to work on the case. He knew he shouldn't be driving, but there were some things that were more important than obeying doctors' orders.

Finding the people who had hurt his partner was one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the reviews and reads and favorites I've gotten on this story! I'm glad to see there are other people who also appreciate good gen Callen h/c (WITHOUT all that currently canon Densi stuff going on *makes face*). But enough of my ranting. Let's see what happens next with our heroes, shall we?

"How's G?" Sam asked the minute Hetty walked past his desk. He had been trying to work but had also kept an eagle eye on the door for her return.

Deeks raised a hand. "For the record, we told him to go home. Several times."

"We did." Kensi nodded in agreement.

"Thank you for your input, Mr. Deeks, Ms. Blye," Hetty stated dryly. She turned back to Sam. "They are right. You shouldn't be working right now."

Sam wasn't budging. "G would be if the situation was reversed. How is he?" he repeated.

"Well, physically he's well enough that he's being discharged," Hetty replied, then paused before answering the unasked question that was on everyone's lips. "I'm sorry, but he still does not remember anything."

The others fell silent at the news. As much as they had all known that this was a definite possibility, they had all been hoping that some miracle would have taken place and their partner, leader, and friend would have been back to normal, solving crimes with them like he always had before.

"When is he leaving? I'll go pick him up," Sam offered. "He can stay at my house; I'll keep an eye on him."

Hetty shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hanna, but if you're not going to be following your doctor's orders, then we need you here, searching for the men who did this. We may have found you, but there has been no such luck in finding the perpetrators. Besides," she added when he was about to protest again, "the doctors said a quiet place. With a family, I don't think that your house is the best place for Mr. Callen to rest, don't you agree?"

No one could ever argue with Hetty when she used that particular tone of voice, and Sam had to agree with the point she had made. "All right, fine," he nodded reluctantly.

"Then…" Deeks trailed off.

"I already have it taken care of," she replied. "In the meantime, I need you three focusing on the case. We have to find out who was behind this before any of us can rest easy."

They were reluctant, but there was truth in what she had said. Sam's face, more than either of the others', showed his feelings about the situation, but he did as Hetty had instructed and turned his attention back to the files in front of him.

"Um, this might be a bad time…" Nell had come up behind Hetty while the older woman was talking. She held her tablet against her chest and raised an eyebrow in question. "Should I come back?"

"No, not at all," Hetty shook her head. "By all means, Ms. Jones, please tell us what you've found."

Nell nodded and tapped the tablet screen with her stylus. "Well, as you know, we had to start from scratch because there were no ongoing cases yesterday morning. The vehicle that forced Sam and Callen off the road was a fleet vehicle stolen from a small movie studio downtown. When we contacted them about it, the manager told us that one of their employees never showed up to work yesterday morning—the same morning they discovered the vehicle was missing."

"So the delinquent employee stole the vehicle," Deeks spoke up.

Sam stood. "That's our best lead. Who's the employee?" he asked Nell.

"Braeden Grant," she replied.

"Does he have a record?" Sam followed up.

"No… that's the funny thing," Nell replied. "See, Braeden Grant—at least, the Braeden Grant whose social security number and other information is on the company's employee forms—didn't."

"Didn't?" Kensi caught the past tense.

Nell nodded slowly. "He died in 2002."

"This guy stole Grant's identity?" Kensi raised an eyebrow.

She and Deeks shared a look. Sam risked glancing at Hetty; their leader's face was set in stone and he couldn't read her expression. But from the determined look she did have, he knew that Grant—or whoever the guy really was—would be in a lot of trouble if Hetty ever caught up with him.

Deeks was speaking now. "Do we have any kind of address for this identity thief?"

"Already sent to your phone and Kensi's." Nell shot Hetty a look, as if she anticipated that Sam was going to speak up.

Hetty gave the young analyst a small nod, and Nell turned and headed back up the stairs to ops. "Mr. Hanna, you are not cleared for duty, so I expect you'll let the others take care of this."

Sam sighed heavily but nodded silently.

"Go home, Mr. Hanna," Hetty told him before continuing to her desk. She pulled a keyring from her pocket, sorted through the keys hanging from it, selected a small silver one. Using it, she opened one of the desk drawers and reached in to pull out a small box. She shook it, allowing the contents to shift around, looking for one key in particular among the many that jingled around inside of it. Finally spotting the one she wanted, she tucked it into her pocket before replacing the box and walking back outside.

* * *

 

Hetty swung the door open, walking inside the dimly lit room. She flicked on the light switch as G followed hesitantly behind her. His arms were crossed, hugging himself as if to keep a chill out. She took in his body language in a moment but declined to say anything about it. Instead, she spread her arms and smiled gently. "What do you think?"

G looked around the room cautiously. He looked as if he was ready to bolt at the first sign of danger; he reminded Hetty of a stray kitten she had found once as a child. The little animal had been so misused that it took months for it to lose most of its skittishness, although it never quite moved past hiding behind her ankles every time her older brother raised his voice.

"I… guess it's fine," he replied unsurely. The lack of the authority that G usually carried in his voice was strange.

Hetty put her bag down on a chair and nodded. "Well, good, because this is the best place I could think of. I come here when I need someplace quiet to rest."

He didn't respond, simply set down his own bag and perching on the edge of the sofa. Hetty wanted to comfort him, to somehow make him remember so that the terror that still lurked in the corners of his eyes would disappear, but she knew she had to simply settle for helping him remember slowly. And she knew that there was still no way to guarantee that he would ever remember at all.

She quickly shut that thought out of the front of her mind, but it was still there. The doctors had warned her that it was a definite possibility, but she refused to accept it. Although her analytical side knew she would have to accept it at some point, another side of her refused to accept it until she had no other alternative.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, moving towards the kitchen.

The man on the couch started, having been apparently caught up in his own thoughts. "Oh, uh, no… not really," he replied quietly.

"Then how about some tea?"

* * *

 

"So," Deeks asked from the passenger seat, "what do you think about this whole thing?"

Kensi frowned. "What whole thing?"

"This case," he clarified. "We don't even know who this Grant really is, but he forced Sam and Callen off the road and they could have d—" he caught himself as Kensi glared at him. "I'm just saying, this is a really confusing case."

"Well, hopefully we'll find something at his place," Kensi replied, pulling up to the curb outside of an older-looking apartment building.

A quick walk took them to the manager's office, where a tall, overweight, balding man in his forties, the manager stood to meet them.

"Well, hello there," he intoned, looking Kensi over. Deeks was fairly certain the hunger in the man's eyes had nothing to do with the deluxe hamburger they had interrupted him from eating. "Name's Wilkins. Richard Wilkins. You interested in an apartment?"

Kensi rolled her eyes. She pulled her badge out of her pocket and held it up where Wilkins could easily see it. "NCIS. We need access to Braeden Grant's apartment."

"Oh." The man didn't look pleased. He wiped his greasy fingers on his dirty jeans as he sighed loudly. "Well, you know, I can't just go letting anyone in any apartment that they want. I have rules and regulations, and if I let everyone pretending to be a cop or an agent in, I'd be—"

He broke off as Kensi leaned in and glared at him. "Grant is currently wanted for the assault and kidnapping of two federal agents, as well as identity theft. If we can prove it, the charge of attempted murder will also be added to that list. Now, you can either let us into his apartment so we can take a look around, or I can charge you with obstructing justice." Her tone left no room for argument, and even though she was a head shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter than Wilkins, he quickly backed off and nodded.

"Okay, okay, no need to get angry. Let me find the key for you." He soon located the key he wanted and handed it to Kensi. "I haven't seen him for a few days if that helps you any."

"Yes, thank you," she replied before turning on her heel and heading out of the office.

Deeks looked Wilkins up and down, giving the man his sternest glare before following his partner. As they headed towards the staircase, Deeks looked back to see Wilkins glowering at them. "Well, he doesn't look very happy."

Kensi shook her head. "Let's just get up to Grant's apartment."

They ascended the stairs quickly and were soon inside of apartment 32C. The whole place was cool and dark, and it appeared to not have been used for a few days. The two agents still pulled their weapons and checked each of the small apartment's rooms. There was no one in either the living room, kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom, and they were soon back where they had started without having encountered any resistance.

"Guess Wilkins was telling the truth," Deeks commented, pulling on a pair of plastic gloves before flipping the nearest lightswitch.

Kensi had also pulled on a pair of gloves and was now going through the contents on the desktop in the corner of the room. "All this guy has here is junk mail," she remarked, "addressed to Grant."

"Maybe there will be something on the computer," Deeks suggested, looking over his shoulder from where he was looking through the contents of Grant's bookshelf. "Hopefully more interesting than what's over here."

After booting it up, Kensi shook her head. "It's password-protected," she observed. "Maybe Eric can find something on it."

They continued their search until an exclamation from Kensi stopped her partner in his tracks.

"Deeks!"

"What?" he hurried in from the other room, looking around for whatever threat had caused her tone of voice.

There was no one else in the room. Kensi was standing at the desk, looking visibly shaken from the contents of the drawer she had apparently just opened.

"What is it?" he asked worriedly.

In answer, she held up a photograph. Deeks eyebrows rose at the surveillance photo, which showed a very familiar-looking man exiting his vehicle at a crime scene. "That's Callen! Are they all like that?" He stepped closer to look over Kensi's shoulder. It was disconcerting, to say the least. As his partner continued to flip through the photographs, they saw at least fifty various shots of their lead agent, all in different locations and lightings.

Kensi nodded, her face showing her own confusion. "It certainly appears this guy did his homework. But… why?"

* * *

 

As soon as Sam noticed Eric descending the stairs, he leaped to his feet. Eric's expression clearly indicated that he had found something of importance, and Sam was not going to let even one moment be wasted in their search. If they could find the guy behind it all, maybe they would recognize him from a case. And maybe if they could recognize him from a case, it would be enough to jog G's memory. It was a long shot, but if there was any chance that it would work, then it would be worth it.

However, the sudden movement made his head spin, causing him to pitch forward slightly as dizziness and nausea took over.

Deeks reacted quickly, and only his quick leap up from his desk saved Sam from hitting the floor. "Whoa, whoa, you okay, buddy?" he asked, sharing a worried look with Kensi.

"Yeah," Sam brushed off the other man's hands. "I'm fine," he insisted, straightening his sling with his good hand.

"Really? Because you don't look like it," Deeks responded. "Kensi, help me out."

"You should be home, Sam," she spoke up, studying his face. "I'll call your wife and have her come pick you up."

"No!" Sam objected quickly. He started to shake his head but winced at the movement. "No. I'll be fine."

Deeks had positioned himself so that he could help if Sam started to fall again. "Really, buddy, you need to be home. You need to be resting; you have a pretty bad concussion, among other things."

"I'll be fine," Sam bit out, glaring at the other two.

"Sam, you have a concussion—" Deeks tried to argue.

Sam cut him off. "Did you find something, Eric?" It came out as more of a statement than an actual question.

"Well…" Eric looked between the others, trying to decide if they were going to start arguing again or not. "We were able to get a look at the contents of Grant's computer that you brought back. And guess what we found."

"I'd be very happy to hear about it, Eric," Sam snapped. He couldn't hold the curt comment back, and although he immediately regretted it, he didn't rescind either the tone or the words.

Eric chewed his lip for a just a moment longer before continuing, "There were several files for Grant—work stuff for the movie company and the like. But the really interesting stuff required a little bit of digging. I managed to find some details that you might find interesting."

He clicked a button and multiple thumbnail images of documents opened on the screen by the desks. "We found dozens of letters that Grant wrote—" Eric looked between the agents, "—to none other than NCIS."

"Why didn't this come up in your first search?" Kensi asked. She leaned in towards the screen, but the print was too small to read anything on the letters.

"Because Grant wrote them under a different name. One that I assume is his actual name since Grant was fake," Eric explained. He tapped another button. "He used the name Steve Harper."

At the mention of Harper's name, Deeks' brow furrowed. He didn't say anything, and none of the others noticed, so Eric continued without interruption.

"It looks like that's his real name. When I looked him up in the system, along with the letters, they all tie in to this case from a few years ago."

Another tap and the mug shot of a middle-aged, slightly-balding, dark-haired man appeared on the screen.

Deeks visibly started when the image appeared on the screen. The others turned, startled at his reaction, and gave him looks in varying degrees of confusion. When he didn't clarify anything, Eric blinked but continued, although everyone now had their attention split between Deeks and the evidence.

"Although Steve Harper doesn't have any records—which is why Grant's picture didn't get any hits when I first searched it—his brother was arrested by NCIS last fall in connection with a Marine's murder."

"Really?" Kensi raised an eyebrow.

Eric nodded. "Harper's younger brother, Derrick. Harper sent several nasty letters when Derrick was first arrested and throughout the trial. The guilty verdict was reached a few months ago, and that's when the letters turned into actual threats."

With another click, the scans of the handwritten letters that had appeared on screen before came up again, but now larger so that they were readable. The others' brows begin to furrow as they read, and Eric continued in a slightly puzzled tone. "The only problem we run into is that the threats weren't aimed at Callen. All the letters that our office received were addressed to—"

"Me," Deeks finished for him.

Three heads swiveled and three pairs of eyes drilled into him.

"Why would Harper be stalking Callen if he was threatening you?" Kensi asked Deeks, her tone betraying her confusion and worry. She turned to Eric. "There's nothing in any of his letters indicating he was focused on anyone else?"

"No."

"Why was he upset with you, Deeks?" Sam asked quietly, lost in thought.

Deeks fiddled absently with the hem of his shirt as he replied, "I'm the one who found what proved to be the key evidence in the case."

"Which would give us a motive if you were the one who had been abducted," Kensi pointed out. "But it was Sam and Callen."

"Have we received anything from Harper since the other day? Any taunts or ultimatums?" Sam wanted to know.

"Not so far," Eric replied.

"Okay," Sam continued. "I want anything you can find on this guy, Eric. We need to find any connections he might have, anywhere he might go to hole up. He's bent on some sort of twisted revenge against Deeks, and since we got away, he's going to be trying again."

"I'll get right on that," Eric replied, turning for the stairs.

"And you," Sam turned on Deeks. "Think long and hard about whatever you might know about Harper. This is your fault."

Deeks raised his hands in protest. "I only knew the evidence I had against the brother. I'd never even heard of Steve Harper past a basic knowledge that he existed."

"Yeah, well, G doesn't even know his own name!" Sam shot back. He crossed the distance between them in a few steps and was now right in Deeks' face. "How do you think he feels, Deeks? I was there when he first woke up in that small room, and again in the hospital. He was terrified, Deeks. And it's all. Your. Fault." He enunciated each of the last three words firmly and clearly, his fiery gaze boring into the other man. He had backed Deeks up against Kensi's desk and was leaning further and further in as he grew more and more angry.

Kensi was between them now, gently but firmly pushing Sam away. "Sam. Sam, stop it. You need to calm down." She turned to her partner. "Deeks—"

"It's…" Sam began to interrupt but trailed off as the room began to spin around him at an alarming speed.

The other two agents turned just in time to see Sam collapse to the ground. Neither were quick enough to catch him, and he hit the floor with a solid thud.

"Call an ambulance," Kensi barked, kneeling beside Sam to check his pulse. She shook her head. "You should have been home," she remarked quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this! I appreciate all of you who have left awesome reviews, favorited, followed, and more. I love knowing that others have enjoyed reading this adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Nell had her chin in her left hand, her right absently toying with the computer mouse on the desk. "Do we have any idea why he went after Sam and Callen instead of Deeks?"

"It's like he's trying to get to Deeks through this," Eric observed.

"But there was nothing sent since before they were taken," Nell reasoned. "Why hasn't he contacted us to announce he had grabbed them? It would seem as if he would want to get Deeks' attention somehow."

"It's like he was satisfied with just grabbing them…" Eric trailed off and spun to look Nell in the eye.

Her expression held a similar realization. "What if Harper didn't know?" she inquired, her tone deadly serious.

Eric nodded quickly, following his teammate's train of thought. "It would be an easy mistake. He was overseas at the time of the trial."

"I'm going to confirm with Deeks." Nell jumped from her chair, sending it spinning empty as she headed for the door.

"Um, Nell?" Eric's attention had been grabbed by something on his screen. "You might want to see this."

* * *

 

He was still sitting on the couch, shoulders slumped and arms folded. Hetty would have described it more of a perching than an actual sitting. It was as if he was waiting for the slightest disturbance to give him the permission to leap up and bolt like a hunted animal who had just noticed its stalker.

She held out a steaming mug of tea in front of his face. "Here you go; just what you need."

Without any word of acknowledgment, he accepted the cup but continued to sit where he was. He didn't take a drink, simply stared into the dark liquid.

"It won't disappear if you only glare at it," Hetty offered. She took the seat opposite and watched him as she sipped her own tea.

"Yeah… sorry." He lifted the cup to his lips and drank, although she could tell he was only doing it to please her.

They stared at each other in silence for a just a moment, then he averted his eyes and turned back to staring into his mug. Hetty started to say something else, but a sudden noise from outside interrupted her.

The man sitting across from her started at the noise, his wide eyes darting to the window in search of whatever had made the sound. His mug sloshed as he did so, spilling hot liquid unheeded over his hand.

Hetty stood, making sure to put forth her most calming exterior. "It's all right," she assured him. "I'm sure it's just the wind." Even as she said it, she was searching what she could see of outside to try to find the source of the noise. There was a great chance that it was indeed just the wind, but there was also the chance that it wasn't. In case of the latter being a more sinister reason, she knew she would have to take action.

It was strange, having to think of protecting Callen. The man was one of her best agents—or rather, he had been before the recent incident… If everything went well, her team's investigation would turn up those responsible for Callen and Sam's predicaments. If they did, then Callen would have a better chance of getting back to normal, for he would be able to return to his own home and other familiar places, instead of a safe house that he had never seen before and was located almost in the middle of nowhere.

In a matter of seconds and one glimpse, these thoughts flew through Hetty's mind. She headed towards the window, keeping up her calm facade.

Before she could reach it, the door flew open, and three masked figures stormed through.

They each had a drawn handgun; one covered Hetty while the second covered Callen, who was still seated on the sofa. A third pointed his at Callen as well, but this man seemed to be the leader of the group. He carried himself with authority and the other two looked to him as if for direction once they had their guns on Hetty and Callen.

For his part, the man looked completely comfortable with his role in the group. His ski mask hid most of his facial expressions, but his intense blue eyes were cold and hard.

Hetty was keeping an eye on the gunmen, but she was also watching Callen, and the expression on his face made her blood boil. He was completely petrified, watching the man in front of him with what could only be called terror. It made her want to go for her own firearm, but she knew that by the time she would get to the last man, it would have been plenty of time for at least one of their assailants to have fired his own shots. Even if they didn't aim for Callen directly, there was not enough room for her to be guaranteed that the crossfire wouldn't take him out either. She could always shout to him to get down, but he was unstable at the moment; she couldn't predict if he would immediately do as he was told.

"You know," the leader finally spoke, "I've been waiting an extremely long time for this."

His words were directed at Callen, and Hetty could tell from her agent's expression that the fact was slowly sinking in.

"For… for what?" Callen blinked in confusion.

"You, Detective Deeks."

* * *

 

"Mr. Hanna, you should have done as you were told," the doctor remarked with a small smile. It wasn't as happy as it was frustrated. "You probably would have avoided this second visit with me if you had."

Sam grimaced as he shifted to a more upright position on the pillows. "I have stuff to do, Doc. When can I leave?"

"Oh no," Michelle spoke up from her seat beside the bed. She gave her husband her sternest look. "You are staying right here if I have to handcuff you to the bed."

"I'm going to leave you all alone," the doctor looked amused now. "If you need anything, just press the call button or ask at the nurses' station down the hall."

"Thank you, Doctor," Michelle replied, again looking pointedly at Sam. "I'll make sure he behaves himself."

Kensi chuckled, stepping aside from her place by the doorway as the doctor exited the room. "So, all good?" she inquired.

"As long as he stays put," Michelle told her. "He doesn't have any lasting damage at the moment, but if he keeps up with these disobeying the doctor stunts, that might change."

Sam gave Kensi a pleading look. "I need to be out there looking for Harper."

"No, you need to be here resting," Kensi told him. "We'll get Harper."

Her phone rang before she could continue, and she glanced at the caller I.D. "I'm sorry, I really have to take this." She pointed a finger at Sam as she pressed the answer button. "I'll be back to check on you later, okay?"

"I'm fine!" Sam was protesting as she left.

"Deeks! What's up?" Kensi had her phone to her ear now as she made her way down the hospital hallway. "Did you find something more on Harper?"

* * *

 

Hetty could just imagine what was going through Callen's mind. He still was not even sure of his identity as Agent G. Callen, as they had been telling him it was, and now someone was charging him with an entirely different name. There was no way this would sit well with his amnesia.

"Let's all just calm down," she spoke slowly, putting both of her hands in the air. The last thing she needed was to spook either of the other parties in the room. No matter which one was startled, that situation would not end well.

"Shut up!" the man holding the gun on her barked.

The leader of the group was still focused on Callen. "You put my brother away. He went to jail, and he died there, and it was all your fault.

If it was even possible, Callen shrank farther back into the pillows. "Died…? I killed someone?" He looked utterly dejected, sadness now mixed with the fear and confusion of before.

The man's eyes narrowed. "That's what I just said," he snapped. "Didn't you hear me?"

Hetty cautiously cleared her throat. The last thing she wanted was to anger the man, but her maternal instincts were prompting her to speak up. "I think there's something you should know before we continue any further with this conversation."

"What?" the leader snarled, turning his attention on her. His eyes were glinting behind the mask, and he towered above her threateningly.

"He isn't going to remember anything about you or your brother right now," Hetty told him calmly. She took a not-so-wild guess that this was the man behind Sam and Callen's abduction the day before. "When you ran his vehicle off the road yesterday, he was injured. He currently has amnesia; he cannot remember anything before waking up in your prison yesterday."

The man looked her up and down. "You're lying," he finally said.

"Look at his face," Hetty challenged. "Is that the face of someone who is putting on an act?"

There was the briefest of hesitations, then the man's eyes hardened. "Shut up!" he screamed, backhanding Hetty across the face with the fist that held his gun.

Her head snapped backwards, and her small frame flew backwards onto the sofa beside Callen with the force of the blow. She hit the back of the seat and slid down, raising a hand to her burning cheek.

At that moment, there was a sudden flurry of activity in front of her. Her vision was gray and spotted from the pain, so she couldn't make out any details. All she knew was that something violent was happening, based on the grunts and groans that met her ears.

A gunshot rang out, followed by two more in quick succession. Hetty blinked rapidly and rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to clear her sight. All she could think about was Callen, but she knew she would be no help if she couldn't even see a foot in front of her face.

When she regained her sight a moment later, it was nothing like what she was expecting.

Callen was standing in the center of the room with Harper and his two henchmen sprawled out on the ground at his feet. One had a hole in his shirt, which was quickly seeping blood, as well as a myriad of already-forming bruises on his face. The other unknown assailant also had bruises on his face, and his neck was cocked at an unnatural angle. Harper himself was lying facedown, so none of his injuries were visible, but the man wasn't moving.

As for the agent, his face was frozen in disbelief. As he noticed Hetty watching him, he inhaled sharply and searched her face, his eyes full of questions. "What… just happened?"

"It was them or us," she supplied. She moved forward and put out a hand for the gun he was clenching. "You seem to have remembered your training, Mr. Callen. Anything else come back as well?"

He paused in thought, then shook his head slowly as he released the weapon to her. "No… and I don't even know how I knew that."

"It was instinct." Hetty smiled softly, continuing even as she cleared the weapon and set it aside. "I think it's coming back to you."

Callen just nodded numbly. He was still standing in the same spot, so Hetty gently guided him over to the couch. "Have a seat, Mr. Callen. I'll call the others.

Before she could make a move for her phone, there was slight noise and movement at the front door. Both Callen and Hetty spun towards it. Before they could do anything further, Kensi and Deeks burst into the room with their guns drawn.

They took in the scene in an instant, then turned questioning eyes to Hetty.

"We had some company," their leader offered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to leave this be after the last chapter, but I had enough requests that I went ahead and continued this storyline, to clear up the things everyone seems to want to read. Or rather, I have been meaning to continue it. My thesis ate up all of my time, and then things like the Arkansas tornadoes happened and totally threw me off. My apologies for the long delay!

"And you're sure everything I need to know is in here?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow as he read.

Hetty nodded, giving him one of her signature looks. "Of course."

Nate flipped a page. "Right, it's just that the only entry in here after the initial doctors' reports—three months ago—reads, 'Some memory recovery. Medical leave.'" He raised his eyes to gaze back across the desk.

"Oh, is that all?"

"Hetty." Nate put the file on the desktop and placed his elbows on top of it, leaning in on them to look the woman directly in the eye. "I can't help him if you don't give me all of the information that I need. How is he, really?"

Hetty sighed and leveled a look across the desk. "You know that Mr. Callen has always been able to take care of himself," she replied slowly.

"But he isn't himself right now."

"Ah." Hetty sat back. "But some things are not so easily forgotten. Mr. Callen has been taking care of himself for years. His training took over that day, and it won't fail him now."

Nate made a face. "He's gone, isn't he?"

* * *

 

It had been four months since the invasion at the safe house. Or rather, four months, one week, and three days, to be precise.

More than anything, Sam wished he had been with his team then, but he had been in the hospital instead. He hadn't even found out about the danger that G and Hetty had faced until several days after it had been eliminated. After first being upset with the others for not telling him right away, he had to admit that they were right. All telling him would have done was interfere with the doctors' orders not to excite him. He chuckled under his breath; the team's decision was probably just as much self-preservation as concern for Sam's well-being. If looks could kill, Michelle would have eliminated Deeks for trying to sneak in that hamburger.

Speaking of Deeks, the detective had done everything he could to help out while Sam was in the hospital. Deeks had shown up every weekend to mow the grass at the Hanna house and insisted on being called if they needed anything at all. From what Sam had heard from Eric, G's grass hadn't grown very long in the past months either.

When Eric told him about it, Sam knew that he should have insisted that Deeks stop, but it took him several weeks to finally voice the fact. He knew what had happened wasn't Deeks' fault, but it still took some time to get over the emotions that accompanied Hetty's answer of "no change" to every one of his inquiries. He had finally apologized for his outburst in the bullpen during the case, and Deeks had accepted it without hesitation, but things were still a little wrinkled between them. Their friendship was still in that slightly-awkward limbo that exists after such happenings.

Just then, a figure passed by his desk and broke Sam's train of thought. He sat up a little straighter when he recognized the psychologist. Nate gave him a small smile and wave but didn't stop to talk; instead, he continued to where Hetty was bent over her desk.

Although Sam knew he should be focusing on the computer screen in front of him—and the report that was overdue—his concentration was firmly attracted to what was going on across the room. He couldn't hear any of the conversation, but from the expressions that Nate and Hetty both wore, something important was happening. Sam had a feeling it had to do with G, and he began carefully weighing the cost of finding out what they were saying.

No one knew where G was currently staying. He had never returned to his house, and none of the team had heard from him in the past months. Also, no one knew how much of G's memory had returned at this point. They had to assume that he hadn't remembered much, or else he would have come back—G wasn't one to just sit around idly. Even though G's instincts had saved him and Hetty at the safe house, that was all that had happened. His years of training had kicked in when danger threatened, but that was it.

Somewhere behind his worry over G's unknown whereabouts, Sam was proud; his partner was one of a kind.

It was that same pride that gave Sam an assurance that G was fine. Amnesia or no amnesia, G had years of training on his side—not to mention even more years of experience being on his own. Sam could never be glad for the troubled childhood with which G had grown up, but it certainly was coming in handy now.

Outside of work—and even during work—Sam spent much of his time hoping to run into his friend. There were several spots in the city that he and G had previously established as meeting places. If something happened and one or the other of them had to get off the grid, they would have places to meet up. Sam had been frequenting all of them regularly in the past months. Between taking his daughter to the park, stopping for a coffee at a cart downtown, or eating a meal in the back booth of a small diner, Sam was hoping that the same training that had saved G and Hetty at the safe house would prompt his partner to visit one or more of their prearranged meeting places.

His efforts had paid off; he'd spotted G about eight or nine times already. His partner had never acknowledged him, although Sam was positive that the other man had seen him. Sam didn't want to push G into a panic and risk never seeing him ever again, so he was biding his time. Eventually, he would approach the other man, but for now, he was content just to make sure G was safe.

From what Sam had been able to tell, G's appearance attested to the life he was leading on the streets. He didn't look hungry exactly, but he was definitely leaner than Sam was used to seeing him. G was also maintaining a good growth of stubble, even though it seemed to recede every few weeks. He was cleaning up somewhere, although Sam had no idea where. Not that it mattered—well, beyond the fact that if he did know, he might be able to meet his partner there and somehow convince him to come back. Sam didn't want to rush the other man, which was why he was simply keeping an eye on his friend and not talking to him at all—yet.

Not that he was even sure how he would do so, was he given the chance. He wasn't sure if G just wanted to stay hidden or had already forgotten him again. Sam was doing his best to convince himself that the former was true; he wasn't sure what he would do otherwise.

The very real possibility that he would never get his partner back gnawed at him, but he quickly squelched it. Nate had risen from the seat in front of Hetty's desk and was now headed straight for Sam's desk. Sam sat up straighter as Nate approached.

"Hey, Sam."

"No small talk," Sam stated, leveling a look at the psychologist. "Is it about G?"

Nate sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Can we talk?"

Cutting right to the chase, Sam crossed his arms. "What is it?"

"The others are on a case?" Nate grabbed Deeks' empty chair and rolled it nearer to Sam's desk.

"What's wrong with G?"

Nate sighed. "That's just it; I don't know. I was hoping you could help me out."

Silence passed between them for a moment, then Sam leaned forward, closing in the distance between Nate and himself. "You don't know where he is."

That fact that it was a statement, not a question, was not lost on Nate. "I'm not his partner."

"What are you going to do if you find him?"

"You mean, am I going to force him to come in for help?" Nate clarified, quirking an eyebrow as he studied Sam's face. After a brief pause, he continued. "We both know that would be impossible. I just want to see how he's doing, and if I can get him to come back, I will. There are a lot of people who are concerned about him—and not just professionally," he added.

"No one wants G back more than I do," Sam replied quietly. "Let's go for a ride."

Nate jumped up and followed as Sam strode out the doors. As they disappeared into the daylight, Hetty turned and walked slowly back to her desk. She picked up her phone and hit a button, then waited for the other end to answer. "I have an assignment for you," she said simply, then listened briefly before nodding. "I will see you shortly then."

After hanging up, she reached over to pour steaming liquid from a flowered, china teapot into a matching cup.

* * *

 

Nate glanced around the small diner as he slid into the booth across from Sam. "So…?" he prompted.

"Now we wait." There weren't many people around at that time of day, but Sam still kept his voice down so that only Nate could hear him.

Folding his hands, the other man nodded slowly. "How many times have you seen him so far?"

"About eight," Sam supplied. "I haven't talked to him yet, but he seems okay."

"Hi there," the waitress interrupted as she stopped by their table, pen and pad in hand. "What can I get for you gentlemen?" She brushed aside a blonde strand of hair that had escaped her short ponytail as she glanced between Sam and Nate.

"Just coffee for me, thanks," Nate replied.

"I'll take a cup too," Sam nodded. "And, uh, a piece of apple pie. What?" he asked, catching the look Nate gave him. "I like pie."

Nate put his hands up and chuckled. "I didn't say anything."

They lapsed into silence then, both caught up in their own thoughts. The waitress returned a few moments later with two steaming mugs and a plate for Sam. After she walked away, Nate wrapped his hands around his mug and took a long sip.

"Not bad for diner coffee," he remarked.

Sam was just taking the first bite of his dessert when the bell over the door jangled and a figure in a dirty hoodie entered the restaurant. The new arrival glanced around the room, then caught sight of the two men in the back booth. Sam had been glancing at the door periodically, and he saw his partner right away. He could see the other man's eyes narrow as G's gaze came to rest on Nate's figure.

Callen rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, then tucked his hands into his pockets and strode towards the others. As he did, Sam kicked Nate under the table.

"Here he comes."

A moment later, Callen was next to them, glaring threateningly at Nate. "Who are you and what do you want with Sam?"

* * *

 

He hadn't expected to see anyone else when he walked in. Over the past few months, he had established a pattern of frequenting several spots around the city. He wasn't sure at first why he felt such a pull to these certain locations, but there was something inside him that made him think it would be a good idea to visit. After he had seen Sam several times, things had finally added up.

They were partners, that much he knew, and the fact that they were both frequenting the same places made him think that they had set up locations to meet in case of an emergency. The only problem was that he didn't quite feel ready to go up to Sam yet.

And so, he had kept his distance. For some reason, just seeing Sam helped him feel safer, but he wasn't yet ready to go back to that unfamiliar world he was supposed to know. There was too much expectation attached to every glance anyone gave him, mixed with pity, and there was only so much of that he could take.

When he had entered the diner this time, the hair along the back of his neck had risen on end. There was a stranger sitting across from Sam, and Callen didn't like it one bit. There was no telling what was going on.

But if this strange man was looking for trouble, then trouble could be provided.

"Whoa, hey. Easy, G," Sam was saying. He had a hand up, halted on its way to his partner's tense shoulder; he had thought better of it a moment before he made contact but allowed it to hover comfortingly within an inch of G's arm.

He had run through this scenario in his mind, along with a dozen others of what direction the meeting could end up taking. G didn't know Nate, although Sam was very pleased that G knew who he was.

"It's okay; this is Nate. He's a friend, okay?"

G just nodded, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he continued to glare at Nate.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" The waitress's voice came from behind G. "We don't allow panhandling in this establishment. You need to leave. Now." She was next to them now and was reaching out a hand towards his arm to turn him around. "There's a soup kitchen two blocks down."

Both Sam and Nate noticed the look on Callen's face and jumped up, speaking over each other in an attempt to interrupt the waitress before she touched Callen. "He's not panhandling." "It's not a problem."

The woman looked between them, her hand thankfully paused in mid-air. "Are you buying?" she asked unenthusiastically.

"Yeah, get him a cup of coffee," Sam told her. He moved over on the bench so that his partner could sit beside him. "You trust me, right?" Sam continued after she had gone. "Well, I trust him. And he wants you to trust him too."

G didn't look completely sure, but Sam took as a good sign the fact that G had accepted the invitation to sit with them. Sam glanced over at Nate to see the psychologist setting his cell phone down. Just then, the waitress returned with a coffee in hand, although she still didn't look pleased. After she had left the cup and retreated, Sam and Nate exchanged a look. Sam knew that it was up to him to start the conversation. After all, G trusted him—not Nate—at the moment.

"So, G," he began.

Just then, the bell over the door jangled, and Nate turned to glance quickly towards it. Sam also had a view of the door, and his brow furrowed as he observed the newcomers, who were now glancing around the small restaurant.

G had looked over as well, following the looks from the other two men at the table. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind at the sight of the couple who had entered the diner. The man was blonde, bespectacled, and accompanied by a woman who was over a head shorter than he was. She had reddish hair, and her dress, cardigan, and flats were much dressier than her companion's button-down, shorts, and flipflops. Despite their differences, they were quite obviously together, and G couldn't shake the feeling that they were important somehow. The looks that Sam and… Nate, was it?… were wearing indicated that there was something going on that G didn't know about.

"What?" he looked between the others, not wanting to voice just how desperately he wanted to know everything again. This was as good a place to start as any.

Just then, the two newcomers caught sight of the trio in the back booth and headed for them. Sam leaned over to G as they did so. "They're part of our team," he replied. "But I don't know what they're doing here." The last half of his answer was directed at Nell and Eric as they came up to the table.

Eric ducked his head slightly at the glares from Nate and Sam. Nell just squared her chin and returned Sam's gaze. "Hetty sent us."

"Hetty?" G's ears perked up at the name. She was the only one besides Sam he really trusted at the moment. If these newcomers knew Hetty, if Hetty had sent them, then he was all ears.

Clearing his throat, Nate moved over on the bench. "She sent you here?"

"Yeah," Eric took a seat beside the psychologist, across from G.

Sam hid a smile as Nell scooted in beside Eric. If she wasn't so petite, there wouldn't have been enough room for the three of them.

Nell cleared her throat and pulled a computer tablet from her bag. "She wanted us to bring you something," she explained as she tapped in several commands. Setting it down on the table in front of her, Nell leaned across towards G, putting a hand on the table in a gesture of support. "I know you don't remember us yet, but we remember you. We miss you at the office."

Without breaking eye contact, Nell reached down and turned the tablet around, pushing it across the table towards G. "This is what Hetty wanted us to show you."

Sam and G looked down to see a shot of their entire team standing together, smiles on their faces. The image dissolved to another group shot. This time, Deeks looked like he had been holding rabbit ears up behind Kensi's head at one point, but he was grimacing and appeared to be protesting of the hand she had on his ear. The others in the shot were all looking over at the hijinks, amusement showing on everyone's faces.

As the slideshow continued, Sam glanced up at the others, taking in the looks on their faces that gave away the fact that they were all in on the scheme. 'Even you?' Sam mouthed at Nate.

The psychologist just smiled slightly and nodded.

Everyone sat in silence as the slideshow continued. The team was content to just watch G take everything in. The realization that everything was slowly returning to their friend was all they needed.

It was still going to be a long road, but there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel.


End file.
